death of a statesman
by Cath1
Summary: He sometimes trusts the politicians. And this is his reward. Harry/Ruth. Post Ep 9.1


death of a statesman

Disclaimers: If they were mine I'd have far more money and would currently be on holiday somewhere warm and sunny. Hmm... sounds good. I'll work on it.

Summary: He sometimes trusts the politicians. And this is his reward. Harry/Ruth. Post Ep 9.1

Notes: Woo hoo with the new season – so much to work with! And has provided inspiration for this short(ish) post ep. Hope you enjoy. And hope I can remember how to write the characters after quite a reasonable hiatus...

XxX

Harry is dressed in black, the ever-appropriate funereal colour, as he muses on the fickle nature of the British press. How quickly they forget. In other circumstances he'd find it amusing, this amnesiac effect of death, causing the press to lament over the loss of the former Home Secretary. The more sudden, the more traumatic the death, the better the man ends up becoming for prosperity, it seems. But this previous Home Secretary deserves none of the accolades the press now seek to award him. And so, Harry can't be amused by the irony that this British press, who so enjoyed seeing about the demise of this man, now seeks to revere him.

XxX

Ruth knows the truth. It's almost impossible for Harry to be off her radar for a day or more without eliciting consideration about his whereabouts. And knowing what she does about the information she provided him with and the coincidental need to have a Sunday off work... It doesn't take a genius to figure it out. And Ruth is certainly a genius.

She's not sure how she feels about the death of the Home Secretary. No, that's not true. She feels more than a slight bit of relief. But she's unable to reconcile herself with this relief. Because bringing the information to Harry? She knew what would likely happen. She's not naive. Not anymore.

The funeral gets mentioned on the Saturday morning news. She turns the radio off.

XxX

He attends the funeral. The great Harry Pearce not attending the funeral of his former ally would be noticed by people who he can't afford to have notice. So he attends.

For a moment he considers asking Ruth. But he can't. He can't put her through that. And he can't bring himself to ask.

So he goes alone, dressed in black, on an inappropriately sunny and unseasonably warm day. Throughout the eulogies and readings and remarks on the wonder of this man, so important in death, he tries to distract himself. Tries not to think of a dying man clinging to the very shoes he wears now, fingerprints indelibly and invisibly branded on them forever. And it seems inappropriate that he should so unthinkingly choose these shoes for the man's funeral. He should throw them away. Why didn't he discard them? So, he tries to concentrate on other distractions.

But beyond that he can only distract himself with thoughts of her. And that doesn't seem appropriate, either.

He sometimes trusts the politicians. And this is his reward.

XxX

She knows that he attended the funeral. She wonders if she could have gone, knowing what he knows, having done what he did. She's not sure that she could; her poker face has improved over the years, but pretending to lament the death of man she killed, a man who maybe deserved nothing better...? No, she doesn't think she could do that.

He returns to the grid shortly after 3pm. It may be Saturday, but when the alternative is finding ever more creative ways to while away the weekend hours, she sometimes gives in and just goes to work instead. And with Beth Bailey, an unknown entity, at her house, it is even more reason for her to escape.

He heads up to the roof almost immediately, barely even glancing in her direction as he passes her desk.

She manages to fight the urge to follow.

For maybe a minute, anyway.

XxX

He looks over the rooftops of London, sighing. It was more difficult than he had anticipated, edging out the visuals of the man's death at his funeral. He wishes he hadn't been so taken in by the man, so willing to respect him. He is – was – a master spy and it hurts more than a little that he believed the facade.

It's more than that, too. But at this moment he can't admit to himself that they were something akin to friends.

Everything has changed now; this, and other factors, has changed the way he sees the world, adds only to his reluctance to trust others. His whole world has been thrown off-kilter and he's not sure he can adjust that quickly. It's maybe no bad thing that he now only trusts maybe a handful of people. Three of whom he works with.

That leads to other thoughts. What was that she said about them not being able to be any more together? Right now, he couldn't feel more alone.

XxX

She sees him leaning on the railing, looking distantly out over London. He suddenly looks so lost. She doesn't like it when he looks lost; somehow the whole world, her world, feels so much less safe.

She wants to move closer to him, but she resists for a moment. She wonders, briefly, if maybe she should leave him, that maybe he wants to be able to feel what he is feeling without her intrusion. But the reluctance lasts only a moment before she moves nearer, until she is within touching distance of him. Then indecision overrules her; she places a hand his arm but somehow it's not enough.

If she truly believed her previous statement, it would be enough. A comforting gesture from a friend, the closest of colleagues. But she's not naive and she knows that there are ways to be all this and closer.

It's at least partly out of fear. The only safe way to love the man who is your boss, your best friend, the only person you trust, your whole life, is from a distance. Build up walls around yourself and shield yourself in a place where there's no fear of loss or repercussion.

But now is not the time to dwell over words. There are more powerful forces at work.

She moves closer, a hand around his shoulder, his head against the side of hers.

And then, the walls crumble away slightly, and somehow, they're just a slight bit more together than before.

XxX

Fin


End file.
